The Truth Is
by SociallyInept
Summary: Remy gets lectured by a drunk man in a bar. More introspective than funny, but drunk guys are still funny in stories. No romance anywhere whatsoever. Think of it as a vacation. Rated T for language.


Alrighty...the character of Remy and the X-Men/Kids belong to Marvel. The idea of alcoholism vs. drunkness belongs to someone or something I can't remember (I just thought it was funny). The only thing I own is the drunk man. Ha ha ha. I'd be glad to trade though.

And pardon my slurring. It's not very good, but I wanted him to slur with class. If that's possible.

* * *

Remy did not consider himself a bad man. No. He was a very good man who lived and operated in contradicting circumstances. He'd done bad things, and stood by as bad things were done by others, but he himself was just another flirt trying to make a living. In theory. Most of the X-Men still didn't trust him, even after he'd lived among them and even gone on a mission or two with them. There'd finally been an explosion of sorts between Logan and Remy, so the Cajun had decided to go somewhere where he was always appreciated.

The bartender glanced up as he wiped down the counter between happy hour and sad hour. "The usual?"

Remy took off his trench coat but left his sunglasses on. "Non. Something stronger."

He laid his coat across the seat beside him. The only other occupant of the bar was a balding round drunk man slouched over a nearly empty mug two seats down. He spoke as the bartender gave Remy something fizzy and vaguely acidic.

"Problems at home?" his voice was slurred. Remy took a sip of his beer. Whiskey, but with something else going on that he couldn't quite recognize when not by itself.

"Nah," the fat drunk continued, "lucky devil like you's not married. Y'too young. Handsome, 'n stuff. Me, I'm old an' fat an' nobody likes an ol' drunk." He swiveled around to face Remy, almost falling off his stool, and took a very large swig of his own booze.

"Y'know what the truth is?" he slurred, and then was silent. Remy sipped his own drink, pretending not to listen, but waiting for him to continue. Drunks were amusing, especially if they were white-collared. Somehow, the more important or successful a man was, that's how much funnier as a drunk they were. Or by that point and income they stop being called drunks and can afford to be alcoholics. Still. This man's collar was very white.

Remy prided himself on having not been completely wasted for three months now. Obviously, the short man hadn't. By the grayish bags under his eyes and an excess of fleshiness, he came here a lot. Remy hadn't ever seen him or been slurred at by him before though. Oh, right, this was sad hour, the time of evening when corporates were at home and the beauties were still in their classes. He normally wasn't here during sad hour.

The man still sat there watching Remy.

"Y'wanna know the truth o' not, boy? It'd do ya good, you're young an'…an' stuff…."

"Sure, homme," Remy rolled his obscured eyes. "What's de truth?"

"The truth is…the truth is that they act like they hate you to protect themselves. They aren't bein' mean, they're bein' safe. My wife's a bitch an' I can't stand 'er, but me girl's a brat an' no one uses her. It's like havin' a gun widout the govenent watchin' over yer shoulder an' spillin' coffee down yer back. But a man actin' like that gets arrested for bein' an asshole. 'M an asshole. Can' go home 'cuz the lady threw me out an' I'm boozin' away all m' cash at the pub while m' girl's on her firs' date…and yet ya can't stop lovin' them even if they all hate ya, 'cuz they's all ya' got…."

The man passed out. The bartender sighed and leaned through a doorway behind the bar, yelling for someone to move the drunk.

All of the sudden Remy didn't want to drink anymore. He left some money on the counter, grabbed his coat, and left. The man- a complete stranger, and a drunk fat rich one at that- nailed Remy's main problem on the head. The drunk ones, he wondered, how do they always know?

_'An' yet ya can't stop loving' them even if they all hate ya, 'cuz they's all ya got…'_

Remy liked the X-kids. They were alright in their own ways. He liked some better than others, and one more than the rest put together, but Rogue still wasn't sure about him and her first reaction to him was usually distrustful.

Maybe he wasn't that great after all.


End file.
